The Mysteries of Pittsburgh by Michael Chabon

That was a good book.

I've had a weird fucking week. I've gotten a lot done.

When will the government stop trying to control women's bodies?
Women will throw babies away until the end of time, laws will not
end that...if anything education and the betterment of the lower class
will lower the rate of babies thrown out.

Why are people so smart on their own, but such dummy heads when
they're in groups? And why don't more people put spicy mustard on
their salads? I swear to shit, it's amazing. Shutup, it is.

But seriously, Michael Chabon articulates the intricacies of neurotic
intimacy in ways hitherto unknown by me in the literary world. I was
able to relate to a lot of the notions and emotions felt by the narritive
character, Arthur Bechstein. I've come to realize that most critically
acclaimed novels that I've read and enjoyed have amazingly tasteful
sexual content.

Do most people's lives have amazingly tasteful sexual content?

I think about this a lot. Since so many bestsellers have great sexual
content and a lot of movies have it as well, do people mimic this out
of subconscious desire? Or do they just do it on their own? Or are
most people just awkward and "un-sexual"? Or do they think they're
being like, supermega sexy when they are really just being very silly?
Or is it a gigantic equal between all of these and more.

Personally, I think amazingly tasteful sex is rare. But that's just an
opinion that I really have no legit way to quantify. Goodnight diary.